




THE PASSING YEAR 

1912 

THE MAVERICK PRESS 



WOODSTOCK N. Y. 
NEW ED COPYRIGHT 
1911 HERVEY WHITE 



The cold is at its height. The shrill v/inds scream, JANUARY • \ ' ,^N 

And shake their drifting pennants through the skies. MI ' 

Sharp frost-points sting Hke myriads of fliesj T 2 

And bitter tears congeal with cruel gleam, W 3 

Scarce shed from out sad Summer's frightened eyes. T 4 

The black frost in the heart creeps decp^ so deep, F 5 

The very marrow of the bone? is chilled. S 6 

The prophecies of ages seem fulfilled. S 7 

The sun goes drowsy to his deathly sleep. M 8 

Thin ghosts, fantastic, gibber in the north, 1* 9 

And flaunt their baleful flags of chacs forth. W 10 

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Pile up the fire! There still is work to do. F 12 

There still is life to live, still songs to sing. S 13 

Pile up the fire! Make the old rafters ring S 14 

With mirth and cheer the whole long winter through. M 15 

More firef More fire I The woods have more to bring. T 16 

Thrifty old Summer stored her warmth away. W 1 7 

She knew when all the flowers were blossoming T 18 

The time must not be spent in lavish play. F 19 

Down in the water, back full ages deep, S 20 

She hid her treasure, dearer now than gold. S 21 

She was content to let the Present sleep. M 22 

She knew the Future soon must face the cold, T 23 

Deep, deep below, her jet-black jewels lay, W 24 

While, all above, were centuries of day. T 25 

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Pile xixj the fire ! We are bold buccaneers S 27 

Who rape the treasure out from hidden caves. S 28 

We bear it gallantly across the waves, M 29 

And mock the gibbering ghosts with their own jeers. T 30 

Away I You think to dance, then, on our graves, W 3 1 






HBMn^M^^^HMHM 



We taunt you, mock you in your chattering teelh! ?^\'/^.9 

What fear we your white shrouds, spread cold b.-^neath? (T^A^ 
They but protect the roots of future years. 
Avauntl Avaunt! Pile up the laughing fire. 
And drink to ages yet of life's desire. 

We need the cold to purify the earih. 

We haii the frost. It drives our plagues away. 

The summer will return, a purer fey, 

With the foul refuse of old blood cast forth. 

Grim night but freshens and bedews the day. ^f^l^^ 

As the worn traveller, from barrens wide, p^®if^ 

Reviev/s once more the fertile valley's plain, •ey^\2j« 

And thinks to store her granaries again. 

Refreshed by his long absence from their side. 

So, fruitful Summer rises up anew, 

And yields a richer bounty than her due. 

We hail the winter I Heap the roaring fire. 

Mock suns, to laugh until the sun's return ! ^iVsfy 

i 13 here v/e v.'alch our last j^'ear s errors burn, (,^Jl^^^'> 

And cast the ashes forth of old desire. 
The time will come once more for us to turn 
And face our work with new experience. 
The winter gives us calm reflection's eye. 
Nor does it teach us that our wills should die, 
But points the way to make the true advance. 
Pile on the fire ! Its light v/ill yet behold 
The backward flight of barrenness and cold. 



^e^'OksV 



Hoary oM dead of the forgotten year 
We come to dig a peaceful grave for thee. 
Thy course is run. Like old, time-fallen tree 
Thou liest on thy summer's leafage sere. 
Leaves are not left enough thy shroud to he. 
The mocking V/'inds have Cc^rricd them away. 
No matter: clouds have come to shieM lliy clay. 
And scattered down their snows with unshed tear 
We have no reed to mourn. Bear, boar along ! 
7"he ?kieG I'l'^ far too low to lift in song. 

Thy pulseless hands are white and thin and chill. 

Thy silent lips are wan and blue with cold. 

*Tis pitiful to die so worn and old. 

But not so pitiful as living still. 

To die in youth were sadder to behold. 

Death is at best a weary, dreary day. 

The snov/3 fall silently to shield thy clay» 

And fogs drape cerements on vale and hill. 

There is no need to cry aloud in woe. 

Bear, bear along ! Nov/ to thy grave we go. 

We dig graves deep for the forgotten dead. 
We would not have their mem.ories return. 
We would not see old shames to blush and burn, 
Or haunt young eyes, or dim the beaming head. 
Each has his own new cares and shames to learn. 
We pack the earth down solidly, to stay. 
And then we turn, and fare our steps away. 
But what is that soft sighing overhead > 
Wistful, we listen, as the warm winds sing 
Amid the thawing twigs faint notes of spring. 



FEBRUARY 


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When winds of February sigh 

Among the boughs throughout the grove. 

We must not think that spring is nigh. 

And tune our harps for songs of love. 

Cold winter yet will long abide, 

And though the sap has thrilled the stem, 

'Twill down within the roots to hide 

When the noriih win Is shall blow o'er them, 

'Twere shame to think that spring is nigh 

When winds of February sigh, 

How^ hope will struggle not to die. 
And catch at sunset's radiance. 
And think a saffron tinge doth show 
How v/arm rains steadily advance! 
Wise old experience doth know 
How frosts will quickly clear the sky. 
*Tis folly that the winds of spring 
Down in the groves of winter sing. 

Oh, heart of hope, still cherishing 
Old loves and fancies of the past ! 
Accept the winter. Face the truth. 
The cold and snow must long hold fast. 
You are no more a love-lorn youth 
To thrum on one old ragged string. 
And, spite of all, when soft winds sigh, 
My heart will think that spring is nigh. 







'&^' 



rm 




Bold blusterer of the North, %vith smiles of sun MARCH 

Behind thy very scowls of snov/ and cold. 

We know thy v/ays from songs of days of old, 

We know thy reputation, valiant one. 

High on south hill-side, where the snow U done 

We know a sheltered spot from out thy blast. 

Whence frost has crept away, and damp has run. 

Once on the run, the cold runs very fast. 

We seek this spot, and on the bare earth lie. 

And bless the sun, and bless the blessed sky. 

Like mother 'breast, like hearth-stone of eur birth. 

We love the ground : the brown, sweet-smelling soil. 

The sv/eeter is it that it tells of toil. 

Of old, worn weariness, and young Iove*s mirth. 

We feel the ccmfort of our own clay's worth. 

Remembering, it, with welcome, shall return 

Back to the mother that did thrust it forth, 

*Tis humble now, its spirit docs not yearn. 

The grave becomes a pillow for the head. 

And rest is sweeter, dwelling with the dead. 

But now, we live, and feel the ground's swift chill. 
We rise, and seek the cottage and the fire. 
Still filled with coming summer's strong desire. 
Plotting the years for fruitful harvests, still, 
The grain must yet be sown we take to mill. 
The months, the years of duty still are ours, 
And seed let fall too early will but spill, 
And waste amid the onward rush of flowers. 
Blow, winds of March, and batter Heaven's gate. 
The winter*s snows have taught us, now, to wait. 



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APRIL 





Thou art a Iwo-year child, Jear April, faint with smiles, 
'Neath which the tears are gleaming daintily. 
Thy voice is thin with wild birds* melodies, 
Thy violet eyes are timid trembling flowers, 
Thy lips, how faint and pink with tree-top buds! 
Thy wavering, staggering feet march laughingly 
In spite of pouts and sulks from clouded skies. 
Ah, Sweet, come running to my wind-worn arms. 
Come, press against my beard thy petal cheek. 
Let me, too, feel in my enwintered heart 
The cool, thin freshness of nev\''-coming life. 
The cold has chilled me to a thing of stone. 
Shov/er down on me thy petulance of tears- 




^^ 



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^^^^J^ 






I have a grove of locust trees» 

White clouds of flowers above my head. 

And in their scent the myriad bees 

Murmur like sounds of Ocean's bed ; 

And through the flowers the sky, between. 

Is fringed with fern-pale leaves of green. 

And in the grass that grows below 
The dandelions lift their shields, 
Or rear their spheres of down to show 
The ripened seed their virtue yields. 
While down upon the mimic plain 
White petals fall in flowery rain. 

And in, and out, the black ants run. 
Feasting upon the manna shed 
Down out of Heaven's garrison. 
Whose portals, whitely garlanded. 
Yield me the perfume and the balm 
Of honeyed efflorescing calm. 

And song-birds, in the hedges near. 
Thrushes of sweet melodious note, 
Tv/itter the gladness of the year. 
And keep the joy of sound afloat. 
While down, with palpitating wing, 
A butterfly comes balancing. 





MAY 


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A butterfly of straw-pale gold, 
Banded with velvetings of black. 
With glossy buttons multifold 
Adown her bodice, front and back. 
She rests upon a lilac tree 
To flaunt her dainty millinery. 

And cows in distant pastures call 
Unto their prisoned bleating young ; 
But even grief is musical. 
And even sighs are softly sung. 
Pale Melancholy shrinks away 
Behind the boundaries of dsiy. 




And though I know she will return, 
And sallow care will take the lead. 
And though 1 know the night will burn 
With agonies of hearts that bleed, 
I still look up and lightly sing. 
Bewitched with laughter of the spring* 













When Summer was a rare young lass 

And 1 was idly lolling 

Upon a b^nk lo see her pass 

In foolish fol-de-rol-ling, 

I someway must have lost my head. 

Or else, her fresh green kirtle 

Just brushed the cover of my bed 

And lipped the mint and myrtle ; 

For I began a humming, 

My mandolin a strumming 

I am coming, I am coming. 

To give my Love a kiss. 

And the melody of waters 

Thrilled the voices of Earth's daughters. 

We are coming, we are coming 

To thy festival of blisrs; 

Coming, humming, thrumming, strumming. 

Then young Summer thrust her fingers 
Through the crinkles of my hair. 
How the perfume of them lingers, 
Liiigers with me everywhere! 
I began so madly singing 
That the very leaves were ringing. 
And the little birds went winging, 
Winging through melodious air. 
Winging, singing, swinging, bringing. 
Bringing gladness everywhere. 
When young Summer, kisses flinging. 
Thrust her fingers through my hair. 





JUNE 


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Oh, her eyes are blue with morning. 

And the laughter on her lips 

Is a brook a vale adorning. 

Where a gentle doe d<ier sips. 

Sips the nectar with shy lips - sips and skips - 

And the lowly lily dips her green whips 

In the shallows of the marges. 

While a float of leafy barges 

Down the current swift discharges 

Its full load of joy to ships. 

Ships that, flower the -breast of ocean 

With the perfume of emotion. 

Motion, ocean. Love's deep potion^ 

Hark! Again tbe taunting quips 

Of young Summer, gay with laughter 

From her fluting coral lips. 

She has sprung into the tree-tops. 

She is rocking in the breeze, 

I can see the branches swirling 

Round the whiteness of her knees. 

And I catch my wayward lute up, my neglected mandolin 

And I call her, and I call her, and my melody begin, 

Rin-ron-rin, rin-ron-rin, 
Fair young Summer, do you hear me? 
Are you listening up there ? 
Do you craze me, do you queer me, 
With your fingers in my hair > 
And then is it that you leave me > 
Is it that you wish to grieve me > 
Is it that you but deceive me 
With your fingers in my hair > 
Fair young Summer, radiant comer, 
With your fingers in my hair> 









^eyii^ 






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W 3 

T 4 JULY 

F 5 

I 5 Red goia of wheat. wKite gold of rye. 

M 8 In billowing seas of forestry. 

T 9 Beckon the sunshine from the sky. 

W JO And laugh with wealth exult.ngly. 

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S 13 1 think the white sun kisses me. 

S J4 As in the upward fields 1 lie. 

M ,5 ! shout to hiil. and rill, and tree, 

J )6 And hail the bright clouds passing by. 

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p 19 Below, men curse the gnat ana fly. 

S 20 And toil and sweat exceedingly, 

S 21 But, in the upland pastures. I 

]V1 22 Greet the fierce sun. at free as he. 

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T 25 The daisy's white is at my knee. 

F 26 The lily 8 red is on my thigh, 

S 27 The sun and I sing merrily. 

S 28 So fierce, so free, so sweet, July. 

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AUGUST 

Midsummer greetings. Sweet, 
From out midsummer heat. 
The sun with radiant feet 

Scorches the sky. 
The brook, a dwindling thread. 
Scarce cools its stony bed. 
The very flowers are dead 

With love gone by. 

But with the night begun. 
Straight opposite the sun. 
Blooms the dusk harvest moon 

With love replete. 
The meadows court caress. 
The woods* coquettishness 
Invites love's v/ay%vardness 

Like you, my Sweet. 

Midsummer greetings write, 
Rich like midsummer night. 
Your plenilune invite 

To share your feast, 
And full robed will I come, 
A radiant ready groom. 
From out my darkened room 

Behind the East. 



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Drowse, drowse, September day. Bow thy warm head SEPT 

Whereon the gold is gathering slumberingly. 

The summer is asleep still in her bed. 

The cloth is green, still, in the field and tree, 

November's winds and rains are far from thee. 

October, gold and crimson to the core. 

Is yet to come. The yellow sun rides high. 

The earth is one warm mellow threshing-floor. 

And orchards sigh "with overburdened boughs, 

And crickets cry, drov/se, drowse. 

Dream, dream, September night. Enough of s'eep. 

The place for sleep is 'neath December's snows. 

The bed of dreams is in thy heather deep. 

High hangs the moon, thy red round harvest-rose, 

Calm flows her perfume down in rich repose 

Upon the meadows, ripely fruiting them 

With roviiid grapes' bloom. The purple, slar-bright sky 

Sweeps the earth's face with her fringed garment's hem. 

And shadows lie along the pensive stream. 

And God is nigh, dream, dream. 



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Wake, wake, September morn! The Frost King flies 

High up aloft from out the frozen North. 

His crystals sparkle in the thin v/hite skies, 

Soon will they pierce the hazy robes of earth. 

Soon will they drive the naked wanton forth. 

Rouse, then, and weave and store whilst yet thou may. 

The time is brief. The wind assaults the tree. 

I saw a leaf take fright and fly away. 

Death threatens thee. His chills thy members shake. 

Thy fairiea flee. Wake! Wake I 



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!?t>lV 



^ 



'&^^ 



^^^^ 






OCTOBER 



The sun, in flying southward from the cold. 
Has flung his mantle to the shivering earth. 
Red gold it is, inwoven red with gold, 
Lined with the feathery mists from out the north. 
Gleaming with jewelled clasp and broidery. 
Bordered with turquoise cut from out the sea. 

Its pattern is a drift of flying leaves. 
And silken haze enwoofs their lacing stems. 
And flights of song-birds intermingle these. 
And star-fowers gleam in dewy diadems. 
While ground of green, of emerald brilliancy, 
Biaze« be6ide th« turquoise border free. 



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Its breadth is such to glrL the world around 
His burly shoulders as he roils at ease. 
He has no need to shield his middle ground. 
For flying sun will step when at his knees. 
He will return, remorseful, winter spent. 
Bearing .1 cainiier garment, penitent. 

But now the red gold cloak doth still suffice. 
Old earth basks on in drowsing idleness. 
If he have dreams of coming snow^ and ice, 
Fiis ermine, and his armor, w^ho can guess? 
He sleeps full lazily, his work well done, 
Wrapped in the splendor mantle of the sun. 




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^ps pa 



NOVEMBER 1912 






Soft leaves are dying, sweet flowers are dead, 
Slate clouds are flying, song-birds are fled. 
Shrill winds are crying, white frost is lying, 
Love*s heart is sighing. Love's love is sped. 



Black frost must wither, white snow must chill. 
Ice reign, and with her, Death com.e to kill. 
V/inds driving hither, souls drifting whither? 
Wild curses thither, such is God*s will. 



Spring, breathing daisies, must come again. 
Singing God's praises, good angels reign. 
Bleak Sorrow raises Joy's dearest phrases. 
Calm Hope still gazes past Love's poor pain. 






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The Cliristraas bells witliin me ring, 
The angel choirs within me sing, 
My heart would bring its offering 

Of peace to men. 
I have but little wealth to give, 
I have but little life to live, 
My song would live, that it might give. 

And give again. 



The songs of joy within me rise. 
My joy wells up like tears to eyes, 
I hear the saints of Paradise 

Their anthems swell. 
I know the blessed babe is born. 
1 hear the angel's pealing horn, 
That Christ is born on Christmas morn. 

And all is well 



Ring? Ring, ye lands! A.nd shout, ye seas! 

The apples of Hesperides 

^ ' " * Heaven's trees 



: world around. 

One copy del. to Cat. Div. the sound 



»EC IS '^^^ 



life is found, 
1. 



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,0" ' ' ' I UA I 



NOVEMBER 



I9I2 



e^T^^ 






Soft leaves are dying, sweet flowers are dead. 
Slate clouds are flying, song-birds are fled. 
Shrill winds are crying, white frost is lying. 
Love's heart is sighing. Love's love is sped. 



Black frost must wither, white snow must chill. 
Ice reign, and with her. Death come to kill. 
Winds driving hither, souls drifting whilher? 
Wild curses thither, such is God's will. 



Spring, breathing daisies, must come again. 
Singing God's praises, good angels reign. 
Bleak Sorrow raises Joy's dearest phrases. 
Calm Hope still gazes past Love's poor pain. 



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The Christmas bells within me ring, 
The angel choirs within me sing. 
My heart would bring its offering 

Of peace to men. 
I have but little wealth to give, 
I have but little life to Jive, 
My song would live, that it might give. 

And give again. 



The songs of joy within me rise, 
My joy wells up like tears to eyes, 
I hear the saints of Paradise 

Their anthems swell. 
I know the blessed babe is born. 
I hear the angel's pealing horn, 
That Christ is born on Christmas morn. 

And all is well. 



Ring! Ring, ye lands! A.nd shout, ye seas! 

The apples of Hesperides 

Are shaken down from Heaven's trees 

And ours again. 
The good word runs the world around. 
The constellations catch the sound 
That love is found, and life is found. 

And Deace to men. 



DECEMBER 


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F 


6 


S 


7 


S 


8 


M 


9 


T 


10 


W 


11 


T 


12 


F 


13 


S 


14 


S 


15 


M 


16 


T 


17 


W 


18 


T 


19 


F 


20 


S 


2i 


! S 


22 


M 


23 


T 


24 


W 


25 


T 


25 


F 


27 


S 


28 


s 


29 


M 


30 


T 


31 



DEC 10 ^^""^ 



LIBRARY OF CONGRESS 




018 A77 456 2 




THAT YEAR HAS COME TO GRIEVOUS END 
THAT HAS NOT LEFT ONE NEW FOUND FRIEND 
BUT WHO CAN COUNT THE BITTER COST 
WHEN THE YEAR TELLS AN OLD FRIEND LOST 



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